


Steak and Tatos

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Series: A Sparrow in the Wasteland [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Food Issues, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparrow Finlay and Paladin Danse go on their first official mission for the Brotherhood under Elder Maxson's command. The mission goes alright, but it's the lunch after where things get awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steak and Tatos

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. The muse is on a roll with this story! Trigger warning for mentions of death, drug use/addiction, violence, grief/mourning and fantastic racism. May I just say that I <3 Paladin Danse? Moar canon divergence, of course.

 

“Man the mini-gun,” Danse commanded as he and Sparrow climbed onto the vertibird. “Spread your legs a bit so you’re properly balanced and hold it with both hands.”

            As soon as the words left his lips he realised the possible innuendo and blushed, but Sparrow took it in the most innocent way possible and obeyed. The wind from the vertibird’s rotating blades flattened an already snug-fitting suit against the Initiate’s slender form – her combat chest piece concealed the curve of her breasts but the roundness of her hips and backside were still visible. Danse recalled that her son Shaun had been three months old when she went into the Vault and so her body still showed the softness that followed a pregnancy despite the gauntness of her face.

            _She’s a widow and your subordinate,_ he reminded himself. Mourning was hard and fast as a summer radstorm in the Wasteland but to Sparrow, it had been two or so weeks since her world ended and her husband was murdered. He knew she still grieved for Nate, who had served under her father at the Battle of Anchorage and sounded like the sort of soldier who’d have reached Paladin in record time. If she’d taken the baby instead of him, Danse would be sitting behind a tall, clean-shaven man with short black hair and hazel eyes, watching him mow down raiders and super mutants with the calm ease of an experienced soldier. The twist of fate might have been better for the Brotherhood – but not for Danse. From what Sparrow said, her husband would have questioned orders and on the battlefield, that would be catastrophic.

            The Initiate’s boots slid against the metal deck of the vertibird as the aircraft turned towards the Prydwen and Danse swore, immediately turning the magnetic soles of his power armour on and grabbing her. The barrel of the mini-gun glowed cherry-red as it slowed down, Sparrow having lost control of the gun while turning it.

            “Is everything alright back there, Paladin?” the pilot asked over the intercom.

            “It’s fine,” he called back. “Your turn was just a bit sharp for the Initiate; she’s never been on a vertibird before and I wanted to see how she handled the mini-gun.”

            “Very well. Given that I didn’t hear a thud, I assume you caught her?”

            “I did,” Danse confirmed as Sparrow slowly released her death grip on him. She was panting, sweat beading her forehead and a greenish cast visible beneath her tan.

            “Good.” The vertibird turned around once more and the Initiate moaned.

            “I have you,” Danse promised her. “I won’t let you fall.”

            The gratitude in her eyes twisted his heart. Poor Sparrow threw herself into everything, trying to do what he commanded, but Danse was forced to concede that she really wasn’t Paladin material. With her talent for negotiation and investigation with a strong knowledge of logistics, it would be the Scribes for her, which would be safer for her – but remove much of the leeway a Knight or Paladin received. Given her knowledge of pre-War technology, it was a strong bet she’d be assigned to Ingram and her search for Shaun put on the backburner despite the real advances she’d made in tracking the Institute.

            _A pity becoming Elder requires combat experience unless you’re from one of the old Lost Hills families,_ Danse sighed inwardly. Though physically weak, Sparrow had the intelligence and charisma to match any of the Elders that he’d met – up to and including Arthur Maxson, which was truly impressive. And some of the points she’d made, especially about the chaos in the Commonwealth, were truly relevant, albeit a bit close to the Lyons’ view of things for the conservatives back in Lost Hills to consider.

            _I wonder if I could make a case for a recon team to track incidents involving the Institute,_ he mused as the Prydwen came into view. _Haylen and Rhys can hold down the Police Station with those reinforcements the Elder sent; the airport is secure; and we have a clear trail to some of the Institute’s secrets._

“Brace yourself,” he murmured into Sparrow’s hair, unlocking the magnetic soles in his boots, as the vertibird landed.

            The Initiate took some deep breaths and extricated herself from his arms, much as she had when he let her cry into his shoulder just after she’d joined Gladius, before stepping off with a composure that would do a Lancer proud.

            Lancer-Captain Kells awaited them on the flight deck, unconcerned by the inherent fragility of forty thousand tonnes of hydrogen-powered airship above a Commonwealth riddled with Fat Men and Missile Launchers. “Paladin Danse,” the man who really ran the Prydwen greeted with a salute. “Elder Maxson’s addressing the senior ground staff on the command deck and will want your report.”

            “Of course, Lancer-Captain,” Danse answered, returning the salute.

            Kells turned his hard gaze to Sparrow. “Initiate, I’m given to understand you were recruited by the Paladin?”

            “Yes, sir,” she responded, saluting him.

            “He’s normally a good judge of character. But understand that on this ship, you jump when I say so unless Elder Maxson says otherwise.”

            “Understood,” Sparrow said quietly.

            “Good. You better join Danse – the Elder’s definitely interested in meeting you.” And then a flicker of kindness shone through his dour demeanour. “Welcome to the Prydwen, Initiate Finlay.”

            “Thank you, Lancer-Captain,” Sparrow said, saluting him.

            Danse nodded to the Knight-Captain. “I don’t suppose you saved me a steak, Kells?”

            “Talk to Proctor Teagan,” Kells advised dryly.

            “Can I have a tooth pulled out instead?”

            “Then talk to Knight Captain Cade.”

            Sparrow, who’d gone ahead to the prow of the Prydwen, looked over her shoulder and Danse clasped Kells’ forearm. “I’ll catch up with you after the briefing. Remember, you owe me a steak.”

            Kells laughed and returned the forearm clasp before striding towards the command deck himself.

            “I’d taken out some Salisbury Steak to defrost the day the bombs fell,” Sparrow murmured when he joined her. “I wonder if it’s still there.”

            “I’m pretty sure a recon team will want to check out Vault 111,” Danse assured her as he opened the door to the command deck, Kells having let it shut as he went through.

            Sparrow’s lips pursed. “I should go with them. Nate and the others Vault-Tec left to die deserve to be given a proper burial.”

            “Hopefully that can be arranged.” Danse let her go through before following her.

            Arthur Maxson, hard-faced and broad-shouldered, was standing before the great windows of the command deck with his arms folded behind his back. Danse had been his instructor in the use of the min-gun – though he preferred the gatling laser gun – and still dared to think of him as a friend. A quick flick of the eyes and a curt nod acknowledged the duo before Maxson delivered the briefing that laid out their mission and fired the senior ground staff up.

            Once the crew had delivered their final “Ad Victoriam” and filed out, Maxson dropped the stern demeanour and cracked a brief grin at Danse. “I knew the Commonwealth wouldn’t kill you,” the Elder, youngest man who ever become one though he’d certainly earned it, rasped.

            “I’m glad to have proved you right,” Danse said with a tight grin that was quickly stifled. He had to maintain some sense of decorum for Sparrow’s sake.

            “As am I,” Maxson said with audible relief. “As am I.”

            The Elder turned to Sparrow with a flare of his battlecoat. She greeted him with the fist to chest salute and an “Ad Victoriam” that made Danse smile inwardly. Sparrow was lousy with a heavy gun but she had the protocol spot on.

            “Ad Victoriam, Initiate,” he greeted. “At ease.”

            The Vault Dweller relaxed subtly as Maxson sighed, looking out over the ruins of Boston. “I care about them, you know,” he mused. “The people of the Commonwealth, that is.”

            “I noticed,” Sparrow observed. “Things are… rough down there and the Institute is only making it worse.”

            The Elder nodded in agreement. “Indeed. I’m given to understand that your son was kidnapped by the Institute.”

            “And raised by them, according to that bastard Kellogg,” Sparrow confirmed bitterly.

            Maxson’s eyes were surprisingly compassionate. “Initiate, there’s a very strong chance that your son is either dead or indoctrinated beyond salvation.”

            Sparrow’s lips trembled and Danse recalled something Nick had said. “There’s the strong possibility that he’s about ten or so now, Elder,” he told Arthur. “Young enough to become a Squire, if there’s hope for him.”

            The scar-faced soldier nodded. “I hope so. But I must assume the worst and plan for it.”

            Sparrow took a deep, shaky breath. “I understand, Elder.”

            Maxson nodded. “If we can’t save him, then we’ll avenge him and your husband. Within two weeks, you’ve found more information on the Institute than we had in a decade.”

            Danse cleared his throat. “Then with your permission, Elder, that should be our primary focus. If you hadn’t arrived, we would already be pursuing a particular lead – Kellogg was more machine than man, and he had some memory implants we might be able to access.”

            “There’s somewhere called the Memory Den in Goodneighbour,” Sparrow added. “A doctor named Amari can apparently access them.”

            Maxson’s eyebrow rose. “A haven of ghouls?”

            “And our source was a synth,” Danse admitted sourly.

            “With the personality of an old family friend,” Sparrow said defensively. “Nick Valentine was one of the finest police officers I knew and just because this one has circuits doesn’t mean he isn’t less trustworthy.”

            “He… does appear to despise the Institute,” Danse said grudgingly. “And works as a private detective in Diamond City, helping others.”

            “I can’t say as I’m happy about this,” Arthur finally said. “Artificial intelligence is exceptionally dangerous in anyone’s hands.”

            “And the Institute’s habit of sending in synth infiltrators makes it worse,” Sparrow said grimly. “I didn’t get the opportunity to add this to my report, but I came across one trying to kill the man he was sent to replace near Hangman’s Alley. Cait and I dragged the carcass to the settlement and hopefully, it’s still intact.”

            “I’ll reserve judgment on this Nick Valentine,” Maxson reluctantly conceded. “Robots can be programmed with helpful personalities, after all. But I want that synth corpse – or what’s left – up here as soon as possible.”

            “I’ll get Haylen to handle it,” Danse promised. “We’ve got a wide variety of synth parts and Institute weapons taken from the ones who tried to kill us at Arcjet Systems.”

            “Excellent.” Maxson placed his arms behind his back. “Continue sponsoring settlements, Initiate Finlay. We need a variety of supplies ranging from fresh food and water to scrap parts. In return, vertibirds will make regular patrol sweeps over the settlements and we will offer protection.”

            Danse regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t know you sent a report of your own,” he said to Sparrow carefully.

            “With all respect, Paladin, you’re a soldier who thinks in military terms,” she replied. “Haylen and I have a different mindset – she’s technology and I’m logistics – so we each added our own reports to complement what you sent. I honestly thought you knew about it.”

            “I… understand.” Danse looked down at her, somewhat hurt but unable to argue with her logic. “Next time, please let me know.”

            “Of course, Paladin.” Sparrow saluted him.

            “Given the amount of initiative you’ve shown – and coupled with Danse’s recommendation – I’m promoting you to Field Scribe under the Paladin’s command,” Maxson announced. “You’ll be working most closely with Proctors Teagan and Ingram, but I advise that you introduce yourself to all the ranking staff on the Prydwen. After that, get some rest, because I have an immediate mission for you two tomorrow.”

            “Yes, Elder,” Sparrow said, standing to attention. “Ad Victoriam.”

            “Ad Victoriam, Field Scribe.” Maxson nodded as she saluted him and Danse before leaving the command deck.

            “I considered making her a Knight but the pilot told me she nearly fell off the vertibird,” Maxson noted dryly. “Besides, she’s frankly wasted as a grunt.”

            “Agreed,” Danse observed. “She can handle herself in a firefight but heavy guns and power armour would be beyond her.”

            “Which is why you’ll be backing her,” Maxson said as he turned to look down at the Commonwealth once more. “What do you know of her life pre-War?”

            “She studied law,” Danse immediately answered. “I get the impression her mother was a military information analyst, her father a quartermaster – or ‘supply sergeant’ as she called him – and her husband a soldier. She, herself, was going to be a military lawyer.”

            “Someone familiar with pre-War military logistics and discipline is definitely useful,” Maxson mused. “Native to the Commonwealth?”

            “I believe she came from a settlement near the Vault her family took shelter in – Sanctuary Hills,” the Paladin confirmed. “For her, the Great War was about two or so weeks ago.”

            “Ah yes, cryogenically frozen in Vault 111 if Haylen’s report was correct.” Maxson looked over his shoulder. “Is she still having trouble with the chems?”

            “She hasn’t used any more that I’m aware of.”

            “I would prefer you try to keep her away from them. I’ll have Cade give her a check up and make sure she’s fit to serve.”

            “She seems pretty committed,” Danse pointed out quietly.

            “Keep her that way.”

            “Yes, Elder,” Danse promised.

            Maxson looked out the window once more. “I intend to purge the Institute from the face of the earth,” he rasped. “I take no love in what I must do, Paladin, but they need to be eradicated – root and branch.”

            Danse paused as the implications of that statement dawned on him. “Even the boy?”

            “Even the boy, assuming he isn’t a synth sent to string Finlay along.” Maxson sighed. “It seems very… coincidental – only she survived in Vault 111 to follow a trail of clues that has led her to Diamond City and potentially the secrets of the Institute.”

            The Elder glanced at Danse over his shoulder. “I believe she’s being played by the Institute for whatever warped reasons they can think of. The clues, a synth that has the personality of an old family friend… Too many coincidences, Paladin.”

            “I’d wondered about the synth myself,” Danse admitted. “Though I believe Valentine’s intentions are truly sincere.”

            “No doubt they are. They could have programmed him that way.” Maxson sighed again. “Dismissed, Paladin. You and the Scribe will be taking Fort Strong to secure the nuclear arsenal there tomorrow.”

            “Ad Victoriam,” Danse saluted before leaving the command deck, wondering why the conversation made him feel so uneasy.

…

Sparrow was relieved to have Danse with her as they were transported to Fort Strong, an old military facility crawling with super mutants, and even more so to have him take the vertibird’s mini-gun. Her new Field Scribe’s armour had been adjusted by one of Proctor Teagan’s people and it fit perfectly over the clean uniform the quartermaster had given her. A proper bed, sheets, soap and clean water for bathing… If not for the general desolation of the landscape beneath her, she’d be sure she was dead and in heaven.

            The Paladin seemed a little troubled but since they were about to engage in a mission, Sparrow refrained from asking about it. Once the arsenal was secure, she had permission from Maxson to visit Goodneighbour and chase up Kellogg’s memories while acquiring more supplies for the Prydwen. She could check on Cait at Hangman’s Alley and bring one of the spare turrets Ingram had to beef up the settlement’s defences on the way, then pop into Diamond City and catch up with Piper.

            Once the behemoth that rampaged through the ruins of Fort Strong was killed, the vertibird pilot dropped them off and headed back to the Prydwen because of a few lucky hits from the super mutants below. They were mobile but rather fragile, especially against missiles and mini nukes.

            As always in a fight, Danse reigned supreme, his mini-gun shredding radioactive green flesh like it was tissue paper. Sparrow wondered if Nate had been that unstoppable or if Danse was – as she suspected – the superior soldier. And then she felt guilty for thinking so.

            The Institute pistol was perfect for targeting limbs in V.A.T.s, where she lined up most of her shots because she was shit at shooting from the hip, and so Sparrow focused on crippling the monsters. She was a little uneasy about the Brotherhood’s doctrine involving synths like Nick and the idea of sentient ghouls terrified the hell out of her but super mutants… Super mutants needed to be wiped from the earth along with feral ghouls, deathclaws, radscorpions, radroaches, bloodbugs, bloatflies and those big fucking bears.

            They finally secured the arsenal and Danse pulled off his helmet and pulled down his hood to reveal that hard, scarred face topped by scruffy black hair. “Were you hurt, Scribe?” he asked as Sparrow rose from the crouch she’d spent most of the fight in.

            “No. You make a very handy portable fortification, Paladin.” Sparrow smiled up at him. “Are you hurt?”

            “I’m fine.” Danse looked over the crates of mini nukes. “It’s strange – all the power and devastation of an atom bomb in these small packages.”

            “Tell me about it,” Sparrow agreed as she removed her backpack and rummaged in it for some lunch.

            “At least the Brotherhood won’t wantonly use it the way others would,” Danse continued with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. When she looked up at him, his expression was still troubled.

            “I’m sorry about submitting a report without running it by you first,” she apologised yet again. “I honestly thought Haylen had told you.”

            “And according to her, she assumed the same of you.” Danse rubbed his eyes. “Consider the matter dropped so long as you remember to let me know before sending anything off.”

            “Then what’s troubling you?” she asked as she pulled out a box of Salisbury Steak she managed to finagle from Teagan’s grubby little hands. If there was a Proctor it would be worth the court martial to punch, it would be the sleazy, vicious little bastard in the cage who wanted her to extort crops from the settlements around here.

            “Just… the situation with the Institute.” Danse dropped his helmet on the ground and sat down on a little hillock of rubble. “Does it seem… too coincidental to you? Finding the clues to track down the man who killed your husband thanks to a synth with the memories of an old friend?”

            “It _does_ feel a bit suspicious,” she admitted as she laid out the portable hotplate that was part of a Field Scribe’s kit, powered by the same fusion cells that fuelled their laser weapons. An ingenious use of ammo that Sparrow had never considered before.

            “I’m just worried that the Institute might be playing you for some sick reason,” Danse admitted.

            “Kellogg knew I was coming. He referred to me as ‘the backup’,” Sparrow agreed as she switched the hotplate on and set the steak in its foil container on it to heat up. Danse was so preoccupied that he missed one of his favourite dishes being cooked right in front of him.

            “Backup for what?” Danse asked of the air.

            “If I knew that, I’d feel a lot easier.” She got out a combat knife and some tatos to be sliced up and fried. She’d gotten used to the potato-tomato hybrid, though she missed the strains that made them.

            “As would I.” Danse sighed, shaking his head. “I apologise for the maudlin musings, Scribe. Just sitting here in the ruins of humanity’s pride – and knowing we’re chasing fools who would walk in their footsteps – makes me broody, I guess.”

            Sparrow flipped the steak so it would heat evenly. “I can’t fault you. While you were piling those super mutant carcasses up in the dining hall, I went through the general’s logs. God, but what a mess we made of the world.”

            “If nothing else, I’m glad to have you here, because you recognise that,” Danse told her with a too-rare smile. “I like to think you can help the Brotherhood avoid the mistakes of the past.”

            “Those who forget history are doomed to forget it,” Sparrow murmured as she handed Danse his lunch.

            The Paladin stared down at the steak and then looked up at her again. “How did you get this?” he asked.

            “Promised a favour to Proctor Teagan that makes me feel slightly dirty,” Sparrow said with a grimace.

            “Favour?” Danse asked flatly.

            It took a second for her to realise the implication of his question and Sparrow flushed, quickly shaking her head. “Nothing like _that_. I just need to visit Nordhagen Beach and talk them into supporting the Brotherhood. Of course, Teagan implied I should threaten them with violence, the ass…”

            Danse relaxed slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to offer them similar terms to the ones Elder Maxson proposed for any new settlements we sponsor. I suspect that we will be establishing a permanent presence here, which means we need the goodwill of the settlers themselves.”

            “I hope so. I think Ingram mentioned something about modified crops as well – if we get the settlers to use our seeds, then there’ll be more for everyone…” Sparrow put the hubcap she’d salvaged from some scrap on the hotplate to fry her tatos.

            “Hmm, it’s what we do in the Capital Wasteland,” Danse agreed as he began to tuck into the steak. It seemed he was uncomfortable with the thought of her offering intimate favours to Teagan in return for officer’s rations but perfectly alright with her talking settlers into giving up much needed food. He _was_ a soldier and so he probably thought in terms of “If it helps protect people…”

            Nate, much as she loved him, was a picky eater. The steak had to be rare with a hint of char to the outside, his potatoes fried in duck fat and the tomatoes sprinkled with sea salt. Getting Codsworth at his insistence had been a lifesaver because the robot got it right every time.

            Danse paused, a piece of steak torn from the main bit in his fingers, and realised that she was frying tatos for herself. “I’m sorry, I should have offered you some-“

            “It’s alright. I handed the whole lot to you.” Sparrow smiled wryly as she stirred the tatos. “Besides, if you hadn’t been in the way of that super mutant with the laser rifle, I’d be a pile of ashes.”

            The Paladin frowned. “You should be eating more,” he insisted, offering the rest of the steak to her. “Even a Field Scribe has intense physical duties that require proper nourishment.”

            Sparrow sighed. “Just eat the damned steak, Paladin. I’m not particularly fond of Salisbury.”

            “Fine. But we’ll pick up some Brahmin in Diamond City and you can eat that,” Danse declared as he returned to his meal. “No soldier under my command is allowed to starve.”

            “I don’t eat steak, alright?” Sparrow found herself snapping at him, much to their mutual surprise.

            The firm set of Danse’s jaw softened. “Understood, Scribe.”

            She stared down at her tatos, shoving them around disconsolately.  She didn’t know why she was so raw about the steak. It had been Nate’s preferred meal, the one luxury he allowed himself after returning from the hellhole that was Anchorage, and she gladly let him have it whenever they could afford to. Her husband had never offered her a piece, shamefaced because he’d forgotten. The steak was Nate’s and Nate’s alone.

            Nearly three weeks in her perception of the world since the bombs came and they were frozen. Sometimes it felt like hours and other times like months or maybe years.

            The silence stretched out as she finished frying the tatos and ate them with her fingers, the salt-grainy texture soft and slick against her tongue. In the settlements, they dug out the seeds first for planting and Sparrow felt decadently guilty for eating the nutty-flavoured bits of nothing, as if she were depriving a community of food.

            “When will you be heading to Goodneighbour?” Danse suddenly asked.

            “Tomorrow or the day after,” Sparrow told him as she finished off her tatos. “I’ll be going in civilian clothing – I don’t much like provoking trouble with those who see the Brotherhood as a threat.”

            “And in that den of ghouls, they would definitely see us as a threat,” Danse agreed unhappily. “How often do people walk around in power armour? We have a couple unmarked sets.”

            “Only raiders,” Sparrow told him. “If you want to come along, it’s military fatigues or road leathers for you.”

            “And the heaviest combat armour we have on stock,” Danse said grimly. “I’m not letting you travel alone. Not when I don’t know the people you’ll be dealing with.”

            “Why?” Sparrow asked bluntly. She was picking up some interesting signals from the Paladin – his protectiveness seemed more than just the concern of a commanding officer for his subordinate.

            “Because I don’t like my people walking into situations I’m uneasy about without me at their side,” Danse answered, somewhat evasively. “I would do the same for Rhys, Haylen or even Brandis.”

            “Uh huh,” Sparrow observed, maybe just a trifle sceptically.

            The Paladin studied her, brown eyes warm with something that she flinched away from even as she craved it. Clinging to him, a steel bulwark in the chaos of the vertibird flight as he assured her that he’d never let her fall… She wanted that closeness, that strength, even as her mind screamed that Nate was dead nearly three weeks ago by her time and it was too soon.

            “Road leathers and metal armour would work better than fatigues and combat armour,” she decided as she changed the subject, shying away from the intense scrutiny. “You don’t need to look like a Gunner.”

            “Plenty of successful raiders wear combat armour,” Danse said quietly. “I assume you’ll be going as a trader again?”

            “Seeing as I’m established there and the General had a nice stash of silverware in his safe, yes,” Sparrow confirmed. “Nick can keep his mouth shut, especially if it irritates someone named Hancock who apparently runs Goodneighbour, and Piper will play along with the claim that I’ve turned to trading in order to search for my missing son.”

            “Then I am your bodyguard,” Danse stated firmly. “A successful trader always outfits their guards in the best.”

            Sparrow wiped down the frypan and hotplate before stowing them back in the pack, collecting the foil container the steak came in so it could be scrapped for aluminium. Ingram was even more frugal than most Commonwealth settlers – and that was truly saying something.

            “Go and report to Elder Maxson,” Danse ordered. “I’ll watch over the arsenal until the Brotherhood comes here to secure it.”

            She looked up at the man. “Will you be alright on your own?”

            “If it takes you more than two hours to send reinforcements, Scribe, I won’t be happy and will come out firing,” Danse said bluntly. “So yes, I will be alright so long as you don’t take too long.”

            “Yes, sir,” Sparrow told him with a wry smile before turning for the door.

            Even after she exited the fort and fired the smoke grenade to bring in the vertibird, she felt the heat of his gaze on her back.


End file.
